Let's Have Ice-Cream for Breakfast
by chickenscrews
Summary: Birthday tribute to Green Gallant. It's been ten years to the day since Richard Grayson relinquished the Robin mantle and took up the role of Nightwing. The Titans have seen many changes in their team and their lives in that time, cherishing fortune and enduring tragedy. Enemies become allies—friends become threats—lives are born and lost. Ice-cream with a friend at 4am might help.
This is a tribute to one of my best friends, Green Gallant. He's been on this site for eleven years, has a bustling fan-fiction library with all manner of prolific creativity, and he's one of the first people I've met on here. The years I've known him via internet have been loads of fun and he's been a great friend when I've needed one. Today is his 30th birthday, and this fic is my way of showing how appreciated his influence has been in the seven years I've known him. If you're familiar with his work, you might notice plenty of allusions to some of his stories through the course of this fic, some more popular like _Teen Titans All Stars_ and _X High School_ , others more obscure, and one or two he might wish I never reminded anyone of xD

Happy Birthday, Bill =)

* * *

 **March 19, 2016**

Red and blue flashed in silent succession against the interior wall, granting the only source of light in the closed shop and impeded solely by the sullen shadow of Richard Grayson as he bent pensively over the counter, his palms resting against the marble surface. A second shadow joined his, and he knew from the hood-removing motion that it was Raven. It must've been strange for the present leader of Titans West to find her old teammate standing at the center of a crime-scene: a bus robbery gone horribly wrong, ending with a crash through the front of an ice-cream parlor in downtown Jump City at 4:30 in the morning. Fang, the perpetrator, had since been removed by the paramedics from the fractured area of the floor where Richard had beaten him unconscious and was now being loaded onto an ambulance. The Titans' old leader had just barely refrained from repeating what happened with Saico-Tek ten years ago, but given his civilian attire, the police would've written it off as a panicked citizen using self-defense, rather than a masked hero overstepping his boundaries.

Raven was the first to speak, "I spoke to the police chief. She doesn't blame you, Richard. Fang's the real culprit. You'll just be written-off as a passenger on a bus who tried to do the right thing."

He sighed, only half-aware of his present surroundings, withdrawn to the inward resignation of recent events that he still hadn't overcome.

She addressed him again, "Why didn't you tell me you were back in Jump?"

His voice was faraway. "Just passing through."

She hated hearing that tone of distant melancholy from him, even if she understood why it was all he could muster.

Raven stepped closer, only a few feet away now. "Richard, you know there's a home for you here, and people who love you." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "If you need us, just call."

He slowly tilted his head to meet her gaze. The bags under his eyes told her enough of his still-broken soul. It was a look both birds were regrettably familiar with and always dreaded seeing on one another. They were experienced now in meeting misery with empathy.

The visual hold broke a moment, and Richard languidly spied Raven's current roster aiding the police and survivors of the crash several meters away outside. Spoiler outfitted those still traumatized with respirators and calmed them down with soothing words. Artemis and Orpheus helped dig out a senior couple from where the rubble was most concentrated. Melvin—now in her mid-teens, wearing her shoulder-blade-length blonde hair in a low ponytail, and donning an ensemble that resembled a recolored and modified version of Raven's: a short-sleeved medieval-styled dress of black and light violet, a white hooded cloak thickly trimmed and patterned with black, and other basic accessories—concentrated her telekinetic efforts in mending the wounds of those most gravely injured. She'd even pulled a few back from the brink of death. She truly was Raven's protégé.

A ghost of a smile graced Richard's miserable face. "You have a good team."

"You're welcome to be a part of it. Rachael and Grant would love to see Kendra again. Or are you still 'retired?'"

A small breath escaped him that might have registered as a dry chuckle. He looked away again, back to the counter where the glass barrier protecting the lidded ice-cream was kept. "I don't know what I am. I just—" He paused to gather his muddled thoughts, a chore he'd been failing at for far too long now. "Things haven't been the same after Michael. I still can't get over it."

Raven squeezed Richard's shoulder oh so slightly. "Nobody expects you to this soon. These things take time."

"But it's more than that now. Ever since Jason came back—"

"I know what he's done, Richard. We've all suffered for it in some way." She let her hand fall from his shoulder. "It's taken a lot of public statements and a lot of press-conferences to calm this many people down, but even still, not a day goes by that I don't see someone living in fear of superheroes turning into violent psychopaths like some of us have already done." She rubbed a hand over her tired eye and brushed aside a lock of hair in that same motion. "That's why you have no idea how relieved I was to hear that Fang was still alive. It meant there was still a vigilante somewhere in this city who hadn't let the power go to their head. Thank you for showing restraint back there."

He didn't answer. He didn't want to speak. He didn't want to live in this world. He just wanted to…

A thought came to him then, barely even half-formed when he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "You still like mint, right?"

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Richard…" slight twinges of annoyance and exasperation strained her voice, "the store is _closed_. I'm pretty sure this is illegal even if you pay."

By then, he'd already dropped some money by the register and was halfway around the counter. He dryly verbalized his prospective doctor's note, "Upon narrowly surviving a traumatic bus-crash and a tangle with a mutant tarantula-man, the patient, Richard Grayson, suffered dissociative fugue and temporarily lost control of his thoughts and actions. His only known cure was rocky road ice-cream at four in the morning."

"I'm not writing that."

Richard removed an ice-cream lid. "I can forge it."

He then lethargically reached for a small-sized bowl and the scooper and set to work on preparing Raven's minty chocolate-chip.

The telepath sighed, realizing there was no use in appealing to Richard in his current state. She saw the sorrow still lining his face, the fatigue the weight of tragedy had dulled his movements with, and she accepted there was no other way to reach her falling friend than to approach him on his level. She was soon on the other side of the counter with him, grabbing a matching bowl and using her spectral abilities to scoop out Richard's rocky road.

They skipped the toppings, as these two did even as teenagers, handed each other their ice-cream, grabbed the spoons, and found a table for two near the now-shattered expansive window by the gaping hole in the wall where the broken glass and debris was less pervasive. If the police or the other Titans had any objections to the uncanny scene, they didn't voice them.

Their plastic utensils hovering over their respective frozen desserts, it finally struck them how long it had been since either had any ice-cream. It had to have been years. And now, they were doing _this_. A faint chuckle escaped Raven's lips. Richard afforded a small smirk. Gently digging their spoons into their bowls of sweetened semi-solid dairy foam, the pair decided their dosages, lifted the laden utensils from the bowls, and welcomed the anticipated treats inside their waiting mouths. They were rewarded with much-appreciated contentment as the flavored cream melted soothingly on their tongues. It might not have tasted so sweet if they'd had any in recent years…if the circumstances hadn't been different.

One scoop begat another, though neither adult rushed their small repasts. They'd aged enough to know how to appreciate the little things.

Raven ventured mid-course, only slightly awkwardly, "Would you like to talk about it?"

Richard didn't answer immediately, but his movements slowed. At length, he answered with a dry half-smile, "I don't even know where to begin."

"Whatever's easiest, Robin. As far back as you'd like."

Richard smirked lazily at that. "You just called me 'Robin.'"

The surprise at her blunder was evident in her eyes, but she soon returned the light smile. How long had it been since she last accidentally called him by his former name?

Richard leaned back in his seat and continued on that note, "'Robin…' There's as good a place to start as any. God, I think it's been exactly ten years to the day."

Thoughts of the present gave way to the nostalgic crashing of the tides, the smell of the flowers and ocean, that sunny day in Titans Tower's arboretum…

 **March 19, 2006**

The Kryptonian smiled as he stood in the arboretum. "Brother Blood, Trigon, the Brotherhood of Evil, establishing two more Towers in the north and south and a bustling reserve corps all over the world…" He turned his gaze from the sun to face Robin, an air of paternal approval from the Man of Steel, "You and the Titans really have made a name for yourselves."

The Boy Wonder wasn't the same kid he'd met in the Batcave all those years ago. Where he would once meet Superman with energetic admiration and blushed from his compliments, Dick Grayson had matured into a composed and thoughtful young man, only hints of childlike timidity still present under Clark's accolades. And yet, on the cusp of adulthood though he was, there was a notable break of timidity in his reply, owing both to his still young age and to the capacity for wonder that people never fully outgrow. "Coming from you…that means a lot."

It was probably the first time a Leaguer had ever told him. Clark's thoughts soured as he remembered the true purpose of his visit to Titans Tower. He tried weaving it into his reply, "I'm sure Batman's proud of you too, even if he doesn't show it."

That did it. That made the smile fade. Robin averted his masked eyes, the sound of the ocean suddenly louder than before.

Clark tried to soften the damage, his words careful and soft-spoken. "It's been four years since your falling-out. Bruce can't hold a grudge forever."

"You know he can." His tone wasn't harsh, but only matter-of-fact. He continued to look away, "I've tried to forgive him or to apologize myself, but I'm not ready yet. I don't think he is either. Besides," here, his voice briefly shook before settling into a more sullen derivative of his previous stoicism, "I don't want to go back. My time here has been the happiest of my life. Whatever Bruce lost in me, he's more than compensated with the League."

There's the rub. It was the whole reason Superman came here, but even now, it wasn't any less difficult to broach. He worked through his hesitation and said what he'd wanted to all along, "Bruce left the League yesterday morning."

That caught Robin's attention. He shot his gaze back to his Kryptonian mentor, a shock of incredulity displacing the Boy Wonder's features.

Clark quickly resumed, "We discovered that he'd created failsafes to take each of us down in case we ever went rogue. Vandal Savage found them, used them against us, and before we could decide what to do with him—"

"He just…left?" No matter how many times he said it, it would still feel so surreal that one of the Justice League's founding members would so easily walk away. Robin had his own prejudices about his former mentor, but to think he'd turn his back on so many friends like this…

Superman sighed. "Yeah." A short moment of silence, then he allowed a wry smile, "I notice you're not so torn-up about the whole failsafe thing."

A sour chuckle. "Honest? I've done the same thing for my team. I understand why he did it, but for him to just give up on all of you so easily…"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you," Superman rejoined. "I can't speak for the rest of the League, but I've forgiven Bruce for what he did. I'd like him to come back, but he won't return my calls."

Robin wasn't surprised at what he was getting at—only sullen. "You really think he'll listen to me?"

"If there's anyone he's softened-up to by now, it's you."

The waves crashed. The sea air rushed against the trees and flowers, rustling the pair's hair and capes as Robin gave in to pensiveness. At length, the Boy Wonder spoke, "He's all alone now? Just him and Alfred?" Batgirl, though once a valuable ally, had retired from the superhero life to enroll in college—a choice all the Titans would have to face one day.

Clark nodded. "Yeah. He's on his own again."

A long-considered contingency plan vexed Robin then. It was a radical choice he'd weighed for the last couple of years, a future he knew he couldn't avoid, yet he still felt woefully unprepared for how suddenly the situation presented itself. He closed his eyes, sighed, and looked to the Kryptonian once again. "I can't go back to him. But I may have an alternative."

A short time later, Richard Grayson stood at his doorway in civilian garb and offered the opened metal briefcase to the Man of Steel. Inside were several of his costumes and enough of his arsenal to make a complete set.

The young man once named Robin spoke, "I can't be the Robin Bruce needs me to be, but that doesn't mean he should be alone. Let someone else pick up where I left off. The old man's got an eye for talent."

Superman still had yet to fully comprehend the surreality of Richard's choice, but reluctantly accepted it all the same if it meant helping Bruce. He asked, "And what will you do now that Robin's returning to Batman's side?"

The lid snapped shut and Richard replied with a light smirk, "I've got something in mind."

Few words were exchanged between them in the walk to the exit after that, only small-talk and reassurances that each other's respective families were doing well, but before Superman left through the massive front doors, he turned back to the former Boy Wonder.

"I almost forgot," the Man of Steel said, reaching behind his back for something, "Tomorrow's your birthday, right? I got you something." At this, he produced a small parcel and held it out to Richard, whose eyes widened in gratitude and surprise that the most powerful man on Earth remembered his birthday.

"Th—thank, you—Superman," he stuttered upon receiving the wrapped gift.

The Man of Steel smiled warmly. "Anything for family."

He left then, flying off into the afternoon horizon to whatever business called for Earth's greatest guardian.

From watching Superman off until he vanished in the distance, Richard slowly returned his gaze to the present he was given. It wouldn't be his birthday for several hours, but he waited. Until then, he managed calls from other Titans requesting information or backup around the world, brokering and coordinating whatever he was able from his computer and communicator. For Richard's plans of the future to bear their greatest fruit, some changes would have to be made. The other members of his team wouldn't be home until later. He would give them the news then.

When a relatively peaceful interlude presented itself in his managerial affairs, a short time past seven in the evening, he decided to make the important call. He dialed Fixit to finalize his plans, occasionally interrupted by other calls for help from other Titans, and the Titan leader and the master of technology talked the hours away, sorting out details and discussing revisions for Richard's soon-to-be-unveiled plans. The digital clock soon changed to 12:00 AM, and the new date read—

 **March 20, 2006**

In time, their arrangements finalized and an appointment set up, they ended their conversation and Richard returned to the silent tranquility of his empty tower.

He checked the time: 12:37.

Now was as good a time as any to unwrap Superman's present. Richard smiled upon opening it. It was a small cube-like object that projected an interactive, room-spanning holographic history of Kryptonian mythology. He was surprised that Clark remembered his childhood fascination with the dead planet's legends. Joyfully scrolling through the vast menus as verbal and visual descriptions of each chapter surrounded him in the large room, his eyes shone when he found the chapter of the guardians of Kandor that he was always most intrigued by: the great dragons Nightwing and Flamebird.

* * *

Beast Boy couldn't have been any more confused when he and the others returned to the Tower in the morning and Robin delivered the news. He scratched his green head and grimaced perplexedly as he stood in front of his cracktastic "Identities of Robin" chart, now additionally scrawled-over with the added portraits of Burt W*rd, Damian Wayne, Carrie Kelly, a walrus in a Robin cape and mask, and a fourth-wall-breaking cover from _Batman: The Black Mirror_ , in which Dick Grayson was Batman and met a killer whale at the bank (it was a lovely crime-scene). The changeling queried, "So…you're _not_ retiring?"

Everyone groaned. Sparing Richard the trouble of answering again, Raven burned into Gar's skull, "For the _fifth time_ , he is not retiring, he is not on maternity leave, and he is _not_ a _talking walrus_."

A brief silence passed and Beast Boy still wasn't so sure. He disputed, "But the chart says—" and then squealed in unrequited panic as he returned to the chart and beheld Silkie munching on its charty goodness. Starfire was soon on damage-control and held Silkie in her arms. The mutant silkworm belched out whatever scraps of pages he hadn't yet swallowed, rather content with his dietary choices. Beast Boy, meanwhile, had collapsed on his hands and knees and feebly tried rebuilding his masterpiece. Bagpipes were later played in honor of the lost chart from which many a prevalent Red-X theory was spawned.

Cyborg was the first to bring the conversation back to the land of the sensible. "So, how long're you gonna be off?"

Richard shrugged. "I don't know. I still have to wait and see if Batman even accepts my resignation. But even if he doesn't, I've been wanting some time to myself to reflect on things. About the future, where the Titans are going and where I'll be at the end of it. It's been on my mind a lot since Tokyo. But I know this won't be a problem. The Titans have grown enough to manage without me on the field for a little bit. And it's not like I'm leaving the team. I'll still be here coordinating operations around the globe." He turned to Cyborg, "I just need you and Fixit to help me get the new command center up and running. Until then, I'll continue as I've largely been since the team expanded: helping all the Titans out from behind the computer."

His explanation quelled some of the concern and confusion from his teammates, but Starfire's worry had yet to be relieved. She implored, "Then, you will become busier than ever?" She'd hoped he'd learned to take time off from being a hero back in Tokyo, not gone to the opposite extreme.

Richard clasped his girlfriend's hands, "Only for a while, Star. Just until I get things sorted out. As leader of the Titans, I've kinda fallen into this role of providing backup and intel to the other branches over the radio as they need it. I've barely left the tower lately anyway. At least this way, I'll be able to help them more effectively. And once I've got a new identity for myself, Fixit will hopefully have a firm enough grasp on things here to take over when I'm ready to get back in the field. Who knows?—maybe we'll eventually get a full staff to help out, like the Justice League now does on the Watchtower."

Starfire sighed, still dissatisfied with the situation. With Robin—no, _Richard_ —confined to the Tower while the rest of them were regularly deployed around the world, this wouldn't give the young couple much time to spend with each other. "It may still be a long time before you're ready to rejoin us…but I will wait. If this is what you need to understand what's to become of your life, then I'll support you, Robin."

Richard smiled affectionately at her. "That's all I could ever ask for, Star." He then said to her as well as the others, "Though, you'll all have to stop calling me 'Robin.' He'll be back with Batman in Gotham. For now, when we're using our codenames, call me 'Nightwing.'"

That brought a hopeful glimmer to Starfire's spirits. 'Nightwing'…she knew enough of the future to understand her beloved _would_ indeed return to her side on the field in due time.

The signal for the doorbell chimed, and the security monitor displayed the image of Fixit, a handful of robot assistants hauling various crates of technology and supercomputer equipment behind him.

Cyborg cracked his metallic knuckles. "Well, let's get started."

In the weeks to come, the far half of the rec room would be fully converted into a fully-functional state-of-the-art command post for Richard to manage worldwide Titan affairs from. Various expansive monitors and supercomputers would line the room, complete with cutting-edge practical as well as touch-screen holographic interfaces for specialized user input. And through it all, Fixit and his robot assistants would stand by Nightwing's side, quickly learning from the Titan commander's lead, if not surpassing him.

That time would be some of the most productive in the Titans' history by that point.

* * *

Red-X felt his jaw crack under the giant's massive fist, sending the xenothium thief hurtling across the penthouse suite, toppling over furniture and crashing into a now-decimated bookcase against the far wall. He collapsed to the floor, breathless with piles of books and mahogany plummeting about and atop him, and struggled in vain to pull himself back to his feet. He looked up to his path of trajectory and beheld with one eye—the other swollen shut—through his tattered mask the form of the indomitable mountain of a man who pummeled him into submission: standing at twice a normal man's height, his monstrous physique of rippling muscle concealed beneath a formal navy-blue pinstripe suit, and a swollen cranium that boasted a genius IQ, long blonde hair worn down around this temple. This was a behemoth Red-X had tragically underestimated, the kingpin of crime who ruled Blüdhaven with an iron fist: Roland Desmond…Blockbuster. Behind the crime-lord stood his most elite henchmen, a rogue's gallery obscured in the darkness of night from the severely cracked, floor-to-ceiling room-length window and by the dim light of the flat.

The goliath looked down on the master thief he'd reduced to a broken ragdoll, "You should have known better than to betray me, burglar. Did your simpleton mind truly believe I'd be as easy to topple as those other criminals you've double-crossed?"

Red-X groaned as his trembling arms struggled to lift him back up, but the giant's massive foot rammed into his spine, slamming his increasingly limp body back against the floor.

"Basal detritus like you doesn't stand unless I order it. You're going to stay as you are, a lowly, writhing parasite beneath my foot, until such time as I tire of your misery. Then, you will join the rest of your putrid kind—in the _ground_." He applied further pressure to X's back on that last word, instigating a sharp cry from the thief and cracking the floor beneath him. Blockbuster grinned maliciously, "But then again, your punishment isn't worth further destruction of my office, and death under my heel is too good for you."

Further pressure was momentarily applied as the ganglord bent over to rip X's belt from his waist, earning a pained grunt from the desecrated thief, and then he moved his foot to the side, allowing Red-X to catch his breath, as he meticulously disarmed the utility belt, removing every last portable cache of xenothium until only a fragment of a cartridge remained. Handing the procured xenothium to an armored henchman behind him, Blockbuster reinserted the nearly-drained cartridge into the belt and dropped it before the conquered traitor. Confused but desperate, Red-X seized it with what little strength he had left.

The kingpin continued, "You see, I'm not going to kill you, master thief. I want you to deliver a message for me. Yes, your mutilated corpse strung over a building would be message enough if I meant only to tyrannize a rival organization, but you're all alone. There are no enemies of mine who would find your death the least bit intimidating. You've no family, no allies, no greater cause than looking out for your own shortsighted interests. So, here's what's going to happen." He leaned over to grab Red-X by his collar and suspended him several feet in the air so he was just beneath eye-level with his conqueror. "You're going to serve as a living warning to all prospective newcomers on the street who hope to join my family only to betray me when the opportunity arises. I am the only kingpin in Blüdhaven and that's the way it's going to stay. If any seek to challenge or betray me…well, that's where you come in. Walk, limp, or crawl among them and show them the error of their ways." Blockbuster called over his shoulder to one of his shadow-obscured henchmen, "Mayhem?"

As he released the broken thief, a pair of gleefully sinister eyes glowed to life beneath a broad-brimmed hat, illuminating a predatory smile, and a length of unnaturally strong linen gauze—the sort one would find on a mummy—shot forth from the shadows and seized X on his way down, catching him with a painful grip around his ribcage as the edges of the bandage-strip cut into his sides, earning another pained grunt from the thief.

Blockbuster gave the rest of the order, motioning with a tilt of his head towards the spacious bulletproof glass window that had been severely cracked during the skirmish, "Return this filth to the gutter where we found him."

X's unswollen eye widened in dread at the order, finally understanding why he was spared a few droplets of xenothium.

The henchman, Mr. Mayhem, grinned wickedly at the order and wasted no time in maneuvering his gauze like a whip and slamming X into the glass, still mercilessly thick enough to not yet shatter from the blow.

Breathless but still conscious, X squeezed onto the unfastened belt for dear life, refusing to let the shock of the blows take it from his hand. The gauze coiled back several feet, and he knew the second impact was coming. It didn't hurt any more than the first, but rather, knowing the glass was nearly shattered meant his immediate punishment was almost over. The greatest peril was in the fall to come and if he'd have enough strength to use, let alone hold onto, his belt.

After the second collision, his costume and much of his flesh had been shredded by the glass. The master thief had been reduced to this bleeding, barely conscious pulp.

Mr. Mayhem prepared for the hopefully final swing.

"Wait," Blockbuster interrupted. The henchman did as he was told, and the kingpin confidently strode over to suspended Red-X, reaching into the front pocket of his pinstripe suit. He produced a phone, yanked off X's torn mask, and snapped a picture of his bloody face. The goliath smiled, "Just a little insurance. You may proceed, Mayhem."

Before Red-X could fully reach his weary hand for the mask—the _face_ —stolen from him, he was already careening through the window, glass shrapnel penetrating his skin, and plummeting to the ground below. He only barely engaged the teleportation feature with the last of the xenothium in his belt mere seconds before entering terminal velocity.

The details were vague, but he remembered teleporting just over a dumpster in an alley, a homeless woman trying to help him—then, an unmeasured length of time later, he was on a stretcher being carried into RABE Memorial Hospital and wound up on an operating table to get the glass out. He fell unconscious to the sleeping gas before the procedure began.

* * *

Nobody knew his name. And thanks to the bandages now wrapped around his head, only few knew his face. Red-X had managed to keep an almost nonexistent profile since he first acquired Robin's old suit, and that's the way he liked it. He carried no ID, no personally identifiable information, but the hospital staff and his fellow patients judged by the shredded suit they found him in that he belonged to the metahuman community. Though, none could tell which side he was on. And with the utility belt now completely empty of xenothium, the FBI wouldn't have any reason to suspect him of chemical terrorism.

His time recovering from the surgery gave him plenty of time to think, time to consider the most drastic options now that he'd sunk to what was possibly his all-time low. Revenge and survival were all that mattered to him now, but for the first time in far too long, he truly felt as though he couldn't do it alone. He hated the desperate schemes his mind conjured in that hospital bed. But at length, begrudging his pride, he pressed the button by his bed to call for a nurse. She arrived soon enough. It was time to set this lie—his own possible downfall—into motion.

"My name is Red-X. I'm with the Titans."

* * *

[Author's note] If you're a fan of Green Gallant, please be sure to wish him a happy birthday :) ...And remind him to finally update his profile—it's been five years xD


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